The conversation went like this:

J: "Hello daughter"
(It's an inside joke, we have a whole family tree :)
Me: [Looks at J]
J: "uh, Son"
L: "Son!"
L: [Smiles and hugs me real tight]
(L is trans too)
J: "How dare you ignore your mother"
Me: [Hugs J too]
Us: [Laugh]

My body and soul are not synonymous.
When I look at my body,
I still refer to it as she,
I stare into the mirror,
And she looks back at me.
You can regret her but please
Don't forget her.
We'll never be those kids again.
I can't wait to be someone else again.
I'm an anomaly, a shapeshifter.

Living was a constant battle
My thoughts told me I was worthless.
Stupid and unloved.
People’s actions left an impact on me
My emotions left neglected.
Unhealthy coping mechanisms.
Filled my days with ease

Identity plays a big role in my everyday life.
My identity allows me to be prideful.
My identity teaches me about relationships and the sincerity of people.
My identity is like a tutor. If I wasn’t the way I am, I would be very ignorant, and I still learn new things everyday.
My identity makes me feel uncomfortable with my body.
My identity urges me to do things that would be weird, and let’s me be unique from everyone else around me.
My identity sometimes feels like a chore. My identity is a series of trials and tribulations.
My identity has taught me more about myself than anyone could even attempt. My identity has put me at risk.
My identity has led me to be a victim of ****** assault.
My identity is something that is sensitive and dear to me.
My identity doesn’t owe anyone an explanation.

when i say
“i want you to come home”
i’m talking to the woman
i was always expected to be

i don’t miss her and
i don’t love her
but she would make it
a little less messy.

I am thirteen
    when the mean girls call
me weird—
I do not shave
I do not wear makeup.
I do wear basketball shorts
and messy ponytails.
I am pressured to be her—
Aria.
I shave relentlessly
    for the next two years.

I am fifteen
    full of discomfort
    and anger
breaking my bones like they
    are glass
reckless rage—
all reckless no brave
    depraved of a home
    inside my own skin.

I am fifteen when I
learn what gender dysphoria is.

I am fifteen when I
    realize I am a boy
that I always have and will be
    a boy.

I am fifteen—
putting holes in wall and
    overdosing on advil
like it is a sport
championing my own self demise.

I am fifteen afraid and closeted—
I write my name as
ALEX
on my school assignments
I always change it back
before I turn them in.  

I am fifteen
    convinced everyone loves the girl
I am not
    and will never love me as the boy
I actually am.

I am sixteen crying on the floor
    of a psych ward
    this is my fifth hospitalization
in fourteen months.
Pretending to be her is
killing me.
I choke back tears as I tell
my mom that I am
transgender.
She tells me she loves me,
    and she saw me writing
    ALEX on my papers.

It will take five years
for her to let her daughter go.

I am seventeen when I am shoved
    to the floor in a men's bathroom
    slammed and slurred across the tile—
It will not be until six months into
    Hormone Replacement Therapy
that I use the men's public restroom.
I am eighteen when my moms boyfriend of the
time pulls me aside
and tells me I am making a mistake.
He would wear his mothers dresses and heels,
    hiding in her closet
    all of this is to say
    this is a phase.
When people say that this is a phase—
    I am sixteen
    sobbing on linoleum floors
    covered in cuts
    wanting nothing more than death
    if I have to pretend to be her
    for more than one second longer.

I am nineteen hopeful
    and naive.
Voice cracking and hair sprouting
    I am coming into my own body.
    I have learned that there
    are things much worse than needles.

I am twenty out of the
    ashes of abuse and trauma
    I am finally becoming
    the man I have always been
    meant to be.